From Your Lips
by LMScatterbrain
Summary: I was found by the second mass, half dead. They saved me, but Hal Mason freed me. Life was never paint by numbers, he showed me the beauty of colouring outside the lines. My name is Ariel, and this is my story. Hal/OC follows the first season
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! This is my first FF, and I really need feedback. I'm not a great writer, I'm aware of that, but my aim is to improve. And to enjoy ****doing it! (By the way, a whole pile of this was written after three in the morning, if there are any mistakes, please tell me! I'm not a wonderful editor)**

**I own nothing except my OC.**

From Your Lips

_Abandon_

_To leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert._

My name was Ariel. I was lost, but I was found. This is my story.

I leaned my head back, letting myself stare at the snow dancing through the air, in some fatal and intricate ballet. Lethal. I swallowed and winced when I tasted blood on my tongue, the metallic bitterness threatening me to bring up an empty stomach. My palm hit the rough wall, eyes screwed tight to continue living. To find will.

But my body slid down the brick, so fast it ripped the skin on my back. The relief of sitting was not matched by anything, not escaping Them, not that night I found the unpicked bakery, when I could see the outlines of all my bones and the skin just hanging there, loose and useless. And surviving sure as hell didn't bring any relief.

Surviving was punishment.

Snow had come, falling deadly and beautiful. A few months after They invaded, when there was no one left and I was crying and broken, the cold draped itself over the city. The first day it fell, I was in the street, feeling the loneliness call out in that ghost-town with each solitary step. Each breath. And then, as if some majestic hand touched my cheek, a snowflake landed on my skin, cold and melting slowly. The despair was crushing, the realisation both brutal and strangely comforting. I was going to die. I could not have survived the winter, I didn't want to. So much death was in the air, burning my lungs. So I painted. I searched for art shops, stole some sketchbooks and paint, pencils and erasers. I painted until everything else didn't matter, and the world faltered in its misery. Until I was delirious in the frozen air and staggered in an alleyway. The watercolours bled prettily into the blizzard.

Cold whipped around me, biting at my hands and face, leaving them red and angry. My feet stuck out in front of me, barefoot in the ruthless chill. I saw the grime, the bones protruding nastily. I thought of wildflowers and honey, of pleasant rooms and blank canvases. Images of unopened paint tubes, of primary colours, and the flawless shade you stumble upon after hours of pedantic mixing drifted through my mind.

I thought of my mother, her huge personality and ridiculous skirts. I thought of the way she put on lipstick, blotting repeatedly, instead of putting on one coat. Her eyeliner, dramatic and fabulous, much like her departures, me in the corner, looking after the door she just slammed, telling me _don't wait up_. Of her popping yet another button on her work blouse, her bra neon under the white shirt, her waitress outfit looking more ready for a bachelor party than actual work. Sexy to get tips - "You have to give them what they want, Ariel, just to get what you want. It's win-win."

_Win-win._

My brain slowly drifted into darkness, and broken black filled my head.

I surfaced confused and tangled in sweat-drenched bedsheets.

My breathing was hard, my were hands fisted to fight off some forgotten nightmare. When my eyes first opened, it was dark, in that unchartered time before dawn, where you have another day to face. More mistakes to make.

Watery shadows were thrown across the room, distorting hospital beds and machines. It felt like a dream, or a nightmare, that stillness that's almost eerie. You know something is coming, something is wrong.

The wait.

I cleared my throat, the sound coming out warbled and rough. I tried to move my arm to my neck, to give some comfort, but pain shot up my limb. A small noise escaped me, a mixture of pain and pathetic feelings bubbling over. I knitted my eyebrows. I felt too happy, too painless. Worry made it's way through the mist.

A small-boy made a small-boy noise, one where they're having a nightmare. It's a cross between a whimper and a cry, making you feel like the worst person in the world for letting them sleep on. He made it again, and a little thing broke inside me.

"Hey..." my hoarse voice broke a tightly-spun silence. "Hey, kid."

Someone else shifted in their sleep, made a tired noise. I glanced over, the moon lighting another boys face, maybe a little older than me. He rubbed his eyes, mouth open and shirtless. The moonlight hit his scars weirdly, illuminating them violently. They spiraled down his torso, erupting at his neck. I blanched, drew back as if I was burned.

He noticed me, frowning. "Sorry." he said, his voice strained. He reached over and snatched a shirt off the nightstand, started buttoning angrily. I made a neutral sound, which felt unnatural in my throat, it was too small, too intimidated. He looked at me, his fingers still working on his shirt. The moonlight was hitting the side of his face, setting silhouette shadows on his skin, making him look beautiful and dangerous all at the same time. I wanted a camera, to keep this second alive.

Our breathing spilled into the quiet, it became a game. His dark eyes locked on mine, and somehow I didn't look away, just watched the tightness between his eyebrows, and wondered if he ever relaxed. The blooming bruise across his cheek, dark on his pale skin. Two statues in the night. He still kept his hands on the collar of his shirt even after it was done.

That is, until small-boy let out a cry in fright. His eyes still closed, his eyebrows were crumpled and folded, and a smattering of baby-tears appeared on his cheeks. The older boy was on his feet instantly, half jogging over to the bed where small-boy lay sobbing. He put his hand on the small boys back, seemingly huge on something so tiny. Making slight, calm sounds with the back of his throat. Shaking the boy, he murmured "Matt... Matt wake up."

"Mom?"

A small, little second of horror flickered through the older boy's face. He took a breath, "No, Hal." A little pause, and Hal, the older boy, frowned. "Your brother?"

Fresh tears escaped the boys eyes, downcast and folded. "Oh." his voice broke.

I tried to clear my throat. It came out mangled, too loud. Hals head snapped over to me.

"Where am I?"

"You're safe." He seems to doubt his own words.

A flare of fury started within me, and I was hissing the words before I could think.

"No one is ever safe." They sounded menacing, low and dark. I was startled for a moment, it didn't seem like they came from my mouth.

But he just nodded, slow and thoughtful. Approval. The small-boy, Matt, slung his arms around Hal's neck, and closed his eyes.

"You know, no one told me your name."

"Ariel." He raised his eyebrows, but ignored it.

"I'm Hal."

He offered his hand out, releasing it from his brothers back. I grasped it tight, it felt _right_, as if my hand was born to fit in his. He was cold where I was warm, my hand soft where his was calloused. I smiled softly at him, let him go.

"You should get to sleep, Ariel."

"You should too."

Hal smirked. "I will if you will."

"Deal."

**What do you think? It's a bit short, I know. Needs a lot of improvement. Be as critical as you like, (I'm a big girl, I can take it) but no non-useful/practical/constructive anger please! Really, I would love to know thoughts on it.  
**

**(Also, Hal's scars are a creative license)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Huge, huge special thanks to me new beta (!) DetectiveDescribedAsALibrari an, for basically saving this chapter. You're the best! (also, a few lines were stolen from her) Her story is beautiful, "The Same Kind of Broken" and it's really worth checking out.**

**Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favourited -anything.**

* * *

From Your Lips

_B - Base_

_Base, basis, foundation, refers to anything upon which a structure is built and upon which it rests._

* * *

I did not sleep. I lay in bed, with my head turned to the side, watching the small-boy -Matt. His fingers curled inwards, his mouth partly open. The mop of curls were crowning his head, dried tears making powdery tracks down his cheeks, his face open and innocent. I wondered what he dreamed about. If his nightmares were filled with faceless bad-guys, or if dreams were the only escape he found. The noises of the sleep Hal promised us both, but only he accomplished, were steadily filling my head, making me sigh with annoyance.

It drove me out of bed, my feet swollen and blistered, enjoying the coolness of floor. My legs weren't strong, and I stumbled a little, holding my breath as Hal stirred in his sleep. I crossed the room, my hands reached for anything that could be supportive, still weak standing.

I walked into the hallway, which was lined with lockers. I looked down, saw the linoleum, an ugly shade of orange. The walls were pale yellow, there were no windows. No escape. The room spun, I put my hand out dizzily, looking for support. My legs finally gave out, and once again I was against a wall, with my feet barefoot and my tongue tasting of blood. My head lolled to the side, and the hall looked like someone dropped the camera in a movie. Slanted, bewildering. I shook my head. Everything was loud, this hammering in my mind getter louder, almost rhythmical.

Until someone was standing over me, menacing and thunderous. I screamed, scrambled against the unmoving wall. Panic rose as bile in throat, my shout turned garbled. A soft murmur was humming at my mind, and realised the intruder was repeating something.

"Sh.. Your safe. Your safe. Sh.." I fought against his words.

And his hands were on me, under my arms and pulling me up. Lifting me into his arms, some sort of fatherly gesture I had never felt. "Let's get you to bed."

Soft mattress, someone pulling the sheets up to my chin. Feeling something going thought he air, hitting a person next to me with a _thud_. "C'mon son, your turn."

A groan, tired and lazy. "Have you met her yet?" Voice rough, full of sleep.

"The girl?"

"Yeah."

"I saw her collapsed in the hall. You?"

"No."

I was too tired to wonder why Hal said he never talked to me.

* * *

Morning sun was streaming through high school blinds, timid in the early day. Three cots were lined up beside mine, clothes strewn haphazardly around the room.

A woman was standing over me, eyes soft and dark hair falling over her shoulder prettily. Things seemed clearer, more vivid in the weak light. More painful. Pinpoints of pain were dotted over my skin, I tried to move my finger. The pinpoints augmented into a searing ache, tearing apart the flesh under my skin. I waited for it to pass, eyes screwed tight, to keep quiet so she wouldn't talk to me.

"Good morning," Her voice was tender, warm. My mouth was stale, I licked my lips. Everything was too bright, blaring -_look at me! _ "You said your name was Ariel yesterday, is that right?" I swallowed. The room was nauseating, I wanted to fall back and go to sleep, to forget this delicate women in the brash room. "I'm Dr. Glass." I nodded. She smiled at me, happy to get some sort of response. "You were brought in with hypothermia. We managed to save your finger, but the nerves in your hand won't work as well as they did before." She paused, probably waiting for me to respond. I was silent.

"You're fine, though. Other than the hypothermia, you were sleep deprived and in need of a good meal. I kept you in this room because of body heat, the three Masons sleep here. They were kind enough to welcome you."

I closed my eyes.

"One of the Masons, Hal, and Maggie, two of our scouters, found you around three miles from here. Hal said he found paintings next to you, we have them if you want."

Grief seeped through me, for no apparent reason. "I don't want them." She beamed, as if me talking was her personal triumph.

"Really? They're very good. One of them was a little blurred from the snow, but other than than that-"

"I said _I don't want them!_" Anger was rising, buzzing electric in my veins. "Just _let me go_, alright, I can make it on my own. I want to go back."

Dr. Glass frowned, "We can let you go, but you have to stay here for a month, or even two. You need to ful-"

"My mom's out there_._ She's probably looking for me right now, and I don't want to stay around here with your weird cult-community thing. I'll be fine. Just let me go."

"I can't do that."

Frustrated tears slipped down my cheeks, embarrassing me at their bluntness. I wiped them away vigorously, uselessly. Dr. Glass patted my arm, pity smiled at me. I jerked my shoulder heatedly. "I'm going to go check on my other patients, okay? I'll be back soon."

"I just want to go _home._" I sounded pathetic. She paused at the door, looked back at me. Her eyes held strength and sadness in equal measures. "We all want to go home, Ariel." And then she was gone.

I fell back in the bed, curled into a ball, ignoring the pain. Felt the emptiness eat me up. The tears of frustration slowly slid into loneliness.

_I want to go home._

* * *

Hal arrived, knocking on the door and looking apprehensive.

"Can I come in?"

"It's a free country."

He smiled, eyes crinkling. It was daytime now, no more moonlight hitting his face, no more dark eyes and a deadly, untouchable face. Here, he was friendly, brown eyes flashing green, and skin tan. The bruise didn't look as drastic now, his scars only visible for a few inches on his neck. They didn't look as fierce in the weak morning sun. "Maybe too free." He said, his statement light but eyes bitter.

"I never liked structure, this suits me just fine."

Hal made his way into the room, his walk arrogant and confident. "So she talks," his voice teasing. I frowned. "Anne came to Maggie, said you wanted to go back to where we found you. Wanted her to have a girl-to-girl with you. Maggie's not much of a talker, so she asked me to do it."

"You're here to have a _girl-to-girl _with me? And who's Anne?"

"Dr. Glass. And not exactly, I only have five minutes. Basically I'm here to tell you that you can go, but you have to stay two weeks first. Doctor's orders." I nodded, that was fair.

"Okay. But just two weeks, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course. And, uh, I came here as well because I wanted to give you these." He slung the backpack off his shoulder, puts it on my bed. Papers crumpling, a choice swear word, he dumped the paintings on my legs. "Sorry," he muttered. He was tense, hands shaking and jaw defiant.

"I told Dr. Glass I didn't want them."

"Just -" he paused, "Just keep them, okay? I want you to have them."

He picked up the backpack, yanked it on. "Anyway, my brother Matt -you saw him last night- will bring you some food later. I'm going on a mission today. I'll see you tonight, aright?"

"Be safe."

He gave me a little salute, mouth twisted into a half-smile, "Always am."

And with that, he walked out the room without looking back. I smiled, brought my knees to my chest. There was a sensation in my stomach, one that made me want to fly, fall and jump all at the same time. It was uncomfortable, sat at the top of my ribs. Something between stupidity and hope, that walked the fine line.

_Two weeks._

* * *

A boy was standing at the door, Matt. Small-boy. Holding a tray that was shaking, the metal cup tapping off the plate. His forehead creased, biting his lips as he tried to balance it.

"Hi." He stated, his voice small but dauntless. I put down my book.

"Hi." I whispered, staring at him.

"Um, Hal told me to bring you food. So, I saved up from breakfast. I didn't know what you would like."

I looked at the tray - porridge, soup, and stew. "Did you eat today?"

"Yeah, kinda. I had some fruit."

I gaped at him. "You had some fruit?" His cheeks tinted red, he nodded. "Do you have another set of cutlery?"

He bobbed his head up and down, poking around on the tray with a free hand.

"I just grabbed some, I've got three knives, one spoon and one fork."

I shifted slightly in my bed, my head down, "Alright, do you want to eat with me? We can share."

He nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Sure, that's smart."

Twenty minutes later, we had finished attacking the food and Matt was sitting cross-legged on my bed.

"Is it true that your name's Ariel?" He asked, scraping the bottom of the porridge.

"Yep."

He laughed, so pure it was jolting. "Like a TV ariel?"

"No, like the mermaid." I smiled when his laughter increased.

"That's so dumb."

"Tell me about it, kid."

And he turned to leave, bringing the tray with him. "Hey Ariel?"

"Yeah?"

"You're okay."

"Thanks, Matt. You're okay too."

I fell asleep, not noticing Matt drifting off in the cot next to me, or Hal sneaking in late, turning off the light and putting my book on the floor.

But when he did, some part of my brain told me that I could sleep fully, now that Hal was safe, and there was only fourteen more nights to go.

_Two weeks._

* * *

**So, any thoughts? Criticisms?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to anyone who even clicked on this story. Just the fact that you're reading makes me so happy. Reviews are great, though, so if you have time please do so! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

From Your Lips

_Colourful - having intense colour or richly varied colours._

* * *

Hal Mason sat across from me, busily scraping up his breakfast. Noises were gliding, smooth and easy, drifting across the cafeteria. I wanted to listen, to hear the simple conversations and be comforted by the manageable discussions of _sleep _and _food_, and _children_. I sat my hands on the table, arched them on the quiet surface. Thought about how this table probably held jocks or geeks, catty comments and self loathing. Complaints at how parents were ruining their lives.I snorted a little, thinking about how small problems were before the invasion. _At least some of them, _a cold part of my chest said. I told it to stop bothering glanced over at me, frowning. "Are you okay?" He sounded expectant, almost an order.

That question was far less manageable than other people's conversations. So I left it be, decided to enjoy the hum and murmur of a buzzing room, closed my eyes. _Bang! _I let out a yelp, saw Hal looking at me questioningly, his hand next to my bowl. "Ariel, are you okay?"

I crumpled my eyebrows, shocked. Fury spun in my stomach, "Yes, I'm fine Hal. I'm dandy, in fact. I'm the best I've ever been. Thank you for demanding, are you okay?"

Hal smirked a little, somehow finding an amusing light to this. "I'm always fine," He said, and I contemplated the truth of it. I went back to listening to the room, the noises around me a little subdued from my outburst.

He looked under the table, ducking his head. He stayed there a little, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat until he surfaced. I laughed a little,"Are you checking me out? I forgot to wear my skirt today." I paused a little, enjoying his baffled look. "Darn."

He ignored me, "You know, you should probably wear shoes around here. We don't exactly have Health and Safety rules, but I'm sure footwear is necessary."

"I like feeling the ground." I said into my meal.

"You can be one with the earth when it's not under attack any more. Until then the only thing you'll be one with is tetanus."

I glared at him, and he smiled broadly over at me. "A problem, Ariel?"

"No. No problem. I'm just wondering how long you worked on that line."

His eyes flashed, laughing with his body.

Matt spoke up, little bits of porridge stuck to his chin. "Dad, are you going to get Ben today?"

Tom coughed and Hal stiffened. He nodded, rubbing at the stubble on his chin, "Hopefully. If Weaver is alright with it." Hal's eyes hardened. He scrapped the bottom of his bowl, his frown increasing with each drag. "Who's Ben?" I ask, my hands still paused on the table. Hal took an audible breathe, threw his bowl onto his tray. "I'm going to Weaver." He grabs his food, and with three steps he's out of the cafeteria, knocking over a meek girl. No noises come from the room.

A tap on my shoulder, cautious. I looked up, the meek girl Hal knocked over, Lourdes, she worked with Dr. Glass, was standing over me. Tanned skin, doe eyes, smiling mouth and delicate hands, entwined at her stomach. "Hi, I'm Lourdes." She extended her hand. I released mine from their position on the table, feeling the first soft hand since coming here. I dropped her grip, she blinked a little, like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure of what to do. I noticed a little gold cross necklace, resting on her chest, glinting in the harsh fluorescents.  
"This is Ariel." Tom's rusted voice calls out from the other end of the table. I inhaled, tried to block the loudness out. To hear the soft hum and murmur of a buzzing room. "Dr. Glass wants to see you at the Medical station, after breakfast." She smiled again.

I nodded, a little frazzled. Then I turned to go.

* * *

Dr. Glass was leaning against a table, eyes closed. That tranquility that lies on the surface of a river, only to get sucked into it's frenzied currents. I knocked on the door, hesitant. The room smelt of sickness and plastic. I wanted to run away. My toes flexed on the floor.

"I have a proposition for you."

"No _hello_? I hear it's the proper social conduct nowadays." I picked at the skin around my nail, the little stabs of pain taking away from the ache in my thumb, where the frozen surface was healing over. I traced the path of the bumpy skin, repeating it, as if the action was going to smooth it over.

She allowed me a soft exhale of breath, her chest deflating an inch. "How's your hand?"

"Peachy. What's your proposition?"

She took a lungful of air, didn't exhale. "I want you teach art classes to the younger kids. Get them messy, paint. I don't care how you do it, just give them a creative outlet." She let out her breath. "I'll give you unlimited access to art room, whenever you want, whatever artistic resources we have. If you teach the class."

"No."

Closing her eyes again, she shrugged. "Well, it was worth a try. That's all I have to say."

I walked out of the room, shaking for no cause.

* * *

Someone grabbed my shirt, dragged me into the girls bathroom with choppy steps. Pushed me up against a wall, the cuts that had started to scab over reopening. Pain at all sides, my head banging against a wall. I opened my eyes, "_Maggie_?" I screeched, my voice filling up the room in an ugly way. She grabbed the collar of my shirt, her eyes burning. "_Princess_."

Something a lot like happiness bloomed in my throat, making me smile. I drank in her features, my hands went to her face, just to make sure she was here. My arms looped their way around her frame. "You're alive!" The laughter bubbling up in my throat unnaturally. She pushed against my shoulders, freeing my collar. "Let _go of me_."

"How are you? How's your.. son, was it? Did he make it?"

I saw a storm in her eyes and felt pain resonate in my gut, sending ripples across my body. My hand went to my stomach, to the place where her fist connected with my torso, and I looked blindly at the wall across from me, concentrated on the scribbles. The bathroom was covered in teenage angst, curses conquering the stalls. Bitter red sharpie stood out, the contrast on the white walls making me ill.

_Gravity plays favorites_

_I know it 'cause I saw_

_Honest to God, officer_

_It's awful (awful)_

_Down at work I'm getting_

_Too familiar with the floor._

I turned my head away, Maggie released me, and I slid down the wall, pain coming in waves and sullen heat. She raged around the room, kicking sinks and slapping walls. Her breathing was labored, she screwed her eyes tight.

"I'm clean now." I whispered. She grunted, moving her elbow back and then sending her fist into the mirror. "Congratulations." She sneered, sarcasm consuming her words. "Some twelve-step program? A _loving _relative? Know where I cleaned up, princess?"

"Yeah. I do." I raised my chin.

"Let me refresh your memory." She smiled, some sick grimace. "Prison. With a time bomb for a stomach and guards that like to knock you around."

Slowly, she brought her hand away from the broken glass of the mirror. The room turned, I put my hand out to find something steady.

"How's your son?"

The silence spun, too perfect to last. She murmured something, with her head bowed into the dusted sink, tears dangling off her chin and her nose. "What?"

She twisted on her heels, cradling her hand. "They took him away from me. _My son_. I don't know his name, if he's alive. All because some fucked up junkie couldn't keep her shit together for a simple house raid."

I bent over, as if I was hit again. My face crumpled, my chest expanded, frozen. Fresh guilt was streaming from my eyes, "I'm so sorry." Sobbing, I reached out for her, to feel some sort of forgiveness. She darted away, I tasted ash in my mouth.

She was against the far wall, her eyes making contact with mine. "Stay away from me. Don't go _near _the second mass. They're good people." She paused. "Do your time and go, Ariel. Or else."

She left, closed the door behind her and walked into the hall, clutching her hand to her chest. Leaving me in the corner of a post-apocalyptic high school bathroom, weeping. Feeling the weight of words and broken mirrors. The red sharpie verse stitching into my skin.

_Do your time and go, Ariel._

* * *

My bag hit the floor, a stolen duffel from one of the Masons. I hoped they wouldn't mind. The sun was setting, scattering dying light across the room, hitting paint bottles, and plastic pallets. I drew delicate patterns with the paint brushes, the art room tainted gold. I painted life before the invasion, little moments that people shared. The homeless, soldiers coming home. Soft smiles late at night. Death, new life. The city, the countryside. A girl putting an earring on, dress short and eyes bright. My mother, her gentle movements. Soft colours and gentle sunlight. Tender pastels. When I had finished, there was dozens of moments splayed over the table, night had creeped and lain over everything. I turned to go, leaving my art there. Touching my fingers to my lips, I closed the door to the art room behind me. _Goodbye_.

The halls were full of muffled sound from the cafeteria, it was like sitting on the outside of a city. Desolate. I walked the plank, my hand on the door. About to jump.

Hal called out, near to me. "Ariel?" He said, curiosity on his face. "Why aren't you in the cafeteria?"

"I could say the same for you." My hand was still on the handle.

"Already ate." He kept making his way towards me, too close.

"Oh."

He stops a meter away from me, hand on his neck. He rubs at it, trying to dispel the tension. "What're you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Why?"

"I have to."

He steps closer again, pushes my hand away from the handle. "You don't." He grabs my wrist, pulls me away from leaving. His heat pulses through my skin, making me jerk back. He ignores it, "_You don't_."

He lets go, digs his fingers under the straps of my bag. Took some of the burden off me. He glanced at the duffel, amusement playing across his face. "Is that my duffel bag?"

"Sorry." My voice walking the balance of embarrassment and humor.

He just shook his head, "Let's go eat. The food here can't be _that _bad, can it?"

My hands were at my side, feeling useless. I ran them through my hair.

"Not the food, per say, the people who give out the food are terrifying."

"Pope? I'll protect you."

My steps matched his, and I walked with the boy I met in the moonlight.

* * *

**Special thank you to DetectiveDisguisedAsALibrari an, who fixed this chapter up and bandaged it together with awesome lines and getting my characters back on their weary tracks. You're the best!**

**Any thoughts? **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own, never have and never will.**

**Bit disheartened with the response. But I am here to improve! So, any (and I mean ****_any_****) feedback that you have really helps me. I don't mind if you criticize, but please keep it constructive. Also I changed the summary from it's random 3 am crypticness, what you you think?**

**Also, big thank you to DetectiveDisguisedAsALibrari an, who keeps my story on the straight and narrow.**

* * *

From Your Lips

_Debris - The remains of anything broken down or destroyed._

* * *

A skitter was behind bars, thin strips of metal and bolts. I shifted my weight from one foot to another, nervous. Hal and Tom had gone out in the morning, with determined expressions and guns. To find the elusive Ben. No one had told me who he was, and I was happy to remain ignorant. Swallowing my dry mouth, I turned to Anne. "What's this?" I asked, motioning towards the skitter. She sighed, turned around with two heavy steps. "Tom brought it in last night, didn't you see?"

"I try not to, uh, participate. That much."

"Well, then, you don't know about our _miracle surgeon_, Dr. Harris." She said the words, slightly edgy. Tapping her foot against the ground, she yanked her hair back with a swift move, her mouth pursed.

"I do now, I guess." I rubbed my thumb, gliding my cold fingertips across the stinging pain. "I wanted to get another dose of that cream?"

She nodded, busy and tired. "Have you thought more about my offer?"

I chewed the side of my mouth, rolling the flesh between my teeth. Tried to ignore the ache. "I just really need the cream, my hand hurts."

She threw it over at me, "Not too much."

I caught the near empty tube, pushing the mixture from the bottom to the top. I spread a pea size bit of the coolness around my thumb. "My offer?" She said, taking the cream back from me.

"I'll think about it."

She smiled weakly, "Progress."

I turned to go, "Slow and steady, Dr. Glass."

_Slow and steady._

* * *

Matt was sitting on a bench in the gym, head down and hands resting on his cheeks. People were moving , relentless. Always _moving, _always _going. _Somewhere to be, people to see. Our tiny lives. I crossed the room, sat down beside him. "Wanna skip school?" I said, standing over him. "I already am." He murmured.

"I know. I just created your alibi. Say _Ariel told me to_." I smirked, "I'll be gone soon, anyway." He grimaced. His small eyes and his small mouth screwing up. "They already know I skipped."

"Amateur, Matty." He let out a breathy laugh, but his eyes were empty. It's funny, how eyes can look so lonely.

"What'cha wanna do on your day off?"

His flicked his gaze to me, "Forget."

I smiled at him, stuck my tongue out at him, crossed my eyes. "Now _that's _something I can do."

He laughed at me, light and superficial. I put my hand out, he grabbed my wrist and I pulled him up.

I raced him down the hall, hearing Matt's peals of laughter behind me. Sunlight was streaming in the art room, as it had done the day before. Today it felt lighter, less elegant and more friendly. I shoved all my paintings to the back wall, not listening to Matt's soft ramblings. Laying a large white sheet over the table, I placed the primary colours on the surface, grabbed a handful of paintbrushes.

Half an hour later we were paint splattered and happy. Matt giggled over at me, eyes twinkling and red paint on his cheek. "What?" I asked, scraping my nails against the dried paint on the table. He giggled again, the sound full of innocence. "We made such a mess," He says, staring at the painting. "It's not a mess, it's abstract." I justify, still scraping.

"It looks like a mess."

I smiled over at him, his beaming face and his childish dimples. "Well, then you'd better help me clean up this mess."

And then, I had this peculiar thought. Something fleeting, running through my mind like a ribbon in the wind. _It's not a mess, it's abstract. _I stopped scraping the paint, spread my hands on the table. Matt looked at me, tilting his head to the side, his hair following suit. Curious.

It's not a mess, it's abstract. Somewhere in the dark maze of streets, I imagined my mother laughing.

* * *

I was lying in my bed, looking at an eighth grade science book, and humming to myself. I flicked over the page, enjoying the serenity and stillness of the air. I watched the words on the page, finding the biology section bearable. Plants were nostalgic. My mother used to prance around in lingerie, watering our balcony garden. The landlord liked to watch, his fat stomach covered in curling chest hair and cigar hanging from yellowed teeth. When we were late on our rent, our flowers would magically need watering, with stilettos and black lace. "Ariel, honey, it makes me feel better to wear these clothes doing housework. Like I'm more than a working mother." _You look like a high class hooker_, I would tell her. And she would kiss my lips lightly, as she had done when I was a child, look into my eyes, the exact same shade as mine, "You are a doll, too sweet, my mermaid." Candles flickered on my bedside table, making the words and pictures warble in the light. Frustrated and homesick, I slammed the book shut with a shout.

"Rough day?"

I spun around in the bed, my hair whipping after me. Hal was lying on his cot, barefoot and hands on his head. Candlelight hid his eyes, I felt strange. I didn't know if he was angry or not, but his mouth was upturned and his body was relaxed and easy. "How long have you been there?" I was on my side, looking at him.

"Long enough to know that you have no interest in science." He was staring at the ceiling, speaking to it. He looked like he was praying, sending his thoughts to heaven.

"Who the hell has an interest in _science_?" I mimicked his pose, stared at the vast white ceiling. Thought about how if this ceiling wasn't there, I would have a perfect view of the night sky. "Scientists." He deadpanned, a soft smile on his face.

"Did you find Ben?"

He shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it." I nodded, let silence fill the room and watch the shadows from the candles dance and flicker. Like fire. I screwed my eyes shut, the walls were too white, "I need to get out of here."

"The second mass or this room?"

"Whatever's fastest."  
Hal sprang out of bed, I could see his eyes. Bitter and brown. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked over at me. "I have something to show you."

"Are you a serial killer?"

He spun around, hands outstretched. "What?"

"I saw this show one time, and it said the best way to deal with dangerous situations was to ask the person straight out if they were dangerous. They can't face they're own personalities and spiral down into a world of guilt and pain. Sometimes they even give themselves up."

He laughed, one loud bark and head lunging backwards. "Come on, Ariel. You'll like it."

"Unless they're a psychopath. Then they'll probably torture you slowly." I was still speaking to the ceiling. To the sky.

He crossed the room, eyes softer than they were before. He raised his eyebrows, I watched the folds of skin on his forehead move as he spoke. "Ariel, I'm not a serial killer. And you'll like what I'm going to show you."

Against my better judgement, I followed him. He led me through the halls, pushed open a fire escape door. I looked at the neon green, thought about how _prepared _we were. A place to call for burglaries, fires, sickness. People in uniform running around with their guns, protecting us from everything. Everything except for this. We were outside, his bare feet hopping on the sharp stones, my leather skin feeling no pain. He was climbing a ladder then, one with vines growing up it and rust extending down its rungs. He stopped at the top, looked down at my face. The moon was behind him, and for a second he looked like he was climbing to it. It seemed like the perfect plan for one flawless second. "Come on."

The roof was covered in moss, a soft carpet to walk on. "It's a good place to think." He said, voice too loud. I placed my finger to my lips, _sh_. "What?" He said, whispering. He reached for his gun, taking two tender steps forward. I shook my head, "Where do you think our room would be?" He frowned at me, and hesitantly extended his hand to the left. "There, I guess." He paused, "Why?" I stalked along the roof, tried to imagine the halls and the rooms. I stopped where my bed would be, lay down on the moss, saw the stars. The night sky from my cot.

"Is this the moment where you quote the poets and the deep thinkers of our world?"

"I was never great at remembering things like that. My brain's a sieve."

Hal sat a meter away from me, tilting his head back. His palms were splayed out on the ground, near to my leg. "Lucky for me, I guess."

I tried the words out, "Lucky for you."

Quiet draped over us, comfortable. He shifted slightly, a little nearer. I felt his heat radiate on my leg, I tried to concentrate on the stars, but ended up listening to his breath. "Ben is my brother. He was taken."

I looked over at him, seeing his carefully placed mask. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, slow and strong, "We'll get him back."

I closed my eyes, feel the damp moss on my back, under my fingertips. "Yeah. You will."

He took something out of his pocket, turned it over with his hands, "And, uh, while I'm _confessing_," He smirked, "I better tell you before anyone else does. There was this... Girl. Karen." He said her name slowly, his lips popping and teeth baring, as if he was relishing saying it. He paused, and I opened my eyes. "I loved her. I love her." He swallowed. "She was taken a few days ago." I let the silence wash over us, like a wave come to take everything away. "That sucks."

He chuckled, light and flimsy, closed his eyes, let out a loaded sigh. "Yeah, it does."

He leant back on the roof, a little too close, a little too warm. I stayed anyway.

* * *

I was standing opposite smiling children, frozen in their happiness. Families, proud mothers. I tried to ignore the begging that was written under the pictures, _SAVE OUR CHILDREN! _it exclaimed in blocky letters. I wanted to focus on that perfect moment in blatant technicolour. _Simple and suburban, _my mother used to scream, her hands in the air and her hair wild. "Do you really want that, Ariel? It's so _boring._" Hal was beside me, banging his hand against his leg. Nervous. Lead was in my stomach. Dread. I captured my torso with my arm, squeezed tight. "This was Dr. Glass' idea. To put up the photos."

I nodded, reached out to touch a girl's face. "Smart." She was in a pink floppy hat, with her arm around a boy. Probably her brother, he looked like he was tolerating it. I imagined his whines, their mother's pleading. The summer sun and the smell of cut grass.I let my eyes close on the scene, smooth and easy. They didn't exist anymore.

"I'm sick of asking if you're okay." Hal's voice brought me back, slightly annoyed at me. Too loud, again.

"Then don't." I whispered. He just looked at me, his eyes on mine. Looking so goddamn pretty. He brought his hand to his cheek, tapped it. "Where did you get yours?" I wished I could close my eyes again, smooth and easy. Didn't exist anymore. But his eyes were still on mine, and I felt trapped. Without thinking, I brought my hand to my face, traced the puckered scar that ran the length of my cheekbone. _Calculated_, the doctors said. _Cold_. The lead in my stomach turned to ice. I thought of Maggie, and her eyes, her tears, _do your time and go_. "I have to -" I ran down the hall, the beat of my feet making everything simpler, everything better.

I walked into the bathroom, my toes curling on the grimy tile. Placing both hands on the shattered mirror, I looked straight ahead. Saw the spiderweb of glass and my eyes looking back at me. Green and broken.

**Any thoughts?**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Falling Skies. **

**Oh! And there are some pictures of Ariel in my profile, delete the spaces.**

* * *

Chapter 5

_Equal - evenly proportioned or balanced._

* * *

I wanted Thai food. I wanted Thai food so badly my mouth was stinging and my eyes were hurting. My clothes felt too heavy, my skin too tight. I wanted to strip down, to feel the wind on my skin and the light rain droplets race down my body. I was standing, watching a boy sit still. _Ricky_, Hal called him. They took the thing, the ugly controlling harness, off his back. Just like that. I clutched my paper and pencil closer to my chest. I had spent five days in the second mass, five nights. Eleven left. The thought didn't sit right, somehow. It weighed down my fingertips with an inappropriate sense of disappointment, made me want to wash my skin with rain. To cleanse me of my feelings, to stare at the shower tile with blank eyes. To feel nothing, enjoy the black content.

I liked to people watch. To sit stationary while everyone else moved, feel trapped inside a world that has no goals. Why do people bother? Why are we still fighting something when we all are going to end, and that will be that, _the end_? Like in movie credits, and all the names listed are the roles we played. _Troubled Artist - Ariel DeMuro._ The boy wasn't breathing it seemed, I watched his chest for a while and saw the tiny movements.

"Can I draw you?" I asked the unmoving boy. He didn't respond.

I sat, cross legged opposite him. I felt the hard chair under me, watched his soft face and full lips. Moved my pencil hesitantly over the page, broad strokes and then shorter ones. I gained confidence, bloomed his face from an eyebrow. Shaded dramatically, one side light, the other pitch black. The background was fake niceness, all white picket fences and mothers talking, children playing. Then there was Rick, sitting motionless in such a happy scene. We must have been there about two hours, me trying to ignore the growing pain in my thumb, and him staring off into space. "D'wanna see?"

"No." He said, carefully placed syllables and a hoarse voice, like he was learning everything from scratch again.

"Why not?" I said, drawing a balloon in a crying girls hand.

"It's not me."

I left it be, felt the silence too heavy between us. His eyes were still staring into nothing, showing nothing, no feeling.

I looked over at him, "I'm Ariel."

He nodded, one quick bob and an emotionless face.

"Ricky."

* * *

It was lunch, and Hal was irritated. His spoon made horrible, scratching noises against the bowl, crawling inside my ears and resonating too loudly. I ate with bitterness, trying to ignore him. Tom was throwing cautious glances over at him, opening his mouth and closing it. He went back to his food. Matt and I caught each other's eyes, he frowned at me, a question mark on his face. I shrugged, bewildered. Tom cleared his throat, Hal snapped his head up, his expression closed off, as if to say _it doesn't matter what you think_. _I don't care._

"Hal, Weaver and I are going to talk about getting Ben after lunch if you want to come. Maggie wants to join us on the mission."

Hal nodded, and he had stomped out of the room before I could ask him about the mission. Tom just said "He's under a lot of pressure," and went back to lunch, attacking it with his fork. It seemed like Tom was under a lot of pressure as well. But all I thought about was _Maggie wants to join us_, and this little seed of hatred building inside my stomach.

I was following Hal before I could stop myself, watching his figure retreat down the halls, turning this way and that. He stopped at the board with all the missing on them, the pictures and the pleading. "Is he up there?" I ask from the other end of the hall, my hand grabbed my elbow behind my back, awkward and fidgeting.

"Yep." His eyes were locked on something, a muscle in his jaw trembling. I saw his scars jumping out from his skin and the light grasped at them, making living fire dance shadows across his skin.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, closer now, close enough to see the anger twitching through him and making him tap his feet, bounce his fingers with a _rat-tat-tat_. Like he wanted a machine gun in his hand just so he could shoot something. I faced him, his exhales and inhales fiery on my skin. His breath was hot where mine was cold. I thought of geography class, and my fat teacher, her warbling voice explaining that when cool air meets warm air, it rises up and creates a storm. "It's somebody else's fault." And he said the words with such resolve I took a step back to protect myself from the fury.

And he turned to me, eyes hard. "I gotta go to Weaver. You better get back to your painting." _That's all you ever do,_ I felt him mentally tack on.

I wanted to shout every insult I could think of, every little scrap of information that could make him squirm, cry. Red pulled at my vision, anger spewing out from me. That anger you feel when you can't control anything, when you know that you are wrong but you keep looking for excuses anyway. And it is not rational, it's a haze and tinted with hate. _You don't fucking know me, Hal. Don't act like you do,_ I wanted to scream. "Fine," I hissed, his eyes glinting steel. The _rat-tat-tat _sound grew faster, more desperate.

This time it was him who walked away, leaving a victorious feeling surging through my veins. _I won, _a sing-song culprit said in my mind, loud and piercing. Reality set in and I was alone in a busy hallway, stranger's eyes trying not to look but failing. The missing faces staring blankly at me. This peculiar sense of sadness on my tongue. _I lost_.

* * *

Dr. Glass was leaning against a counter, lazily organising bottles of pills with soft hands and easy movements. "What do we do with this thing?" A harsh voice asked, far away. Dr. Harris, _the miracle surgeon_, walked with clear, concise steps. His face was hard with lines set deep in his skin, and a voice that spelt out contained fury. She stopped, her hands tightening around a yellow bottle. She slumped against the counter, her back seeming to shrink against her. Trying to keep the rage in. "I _told _you before. We ask it questions. We find information."

My hands were trembling, fear stomping on my stomach. I cleared my throat. She spun around, her hair billowing out. In a moment she caught my eyes, kept on staring. _Lies_.

"Ariel," She said, maternal and warm. I wanted to walked across the room, hug her tightly. Try to imagine my mother's curvy body instead of her small one, the smell of spice and cigarettes instead of sickness. Brightness and laughter instead of dead eyes and dead face. Red blotted lipstick. I stayed where I was, tears on my cheeks, longing in my chest.

"I want to teach the class."

She took a deep breath, turned around, put her back to mine. "Does this have anything to do with your and Hal's fight earlier?"

"No. I just want to... Help out."

She made a sound at the back of her throat, unconvinced. "Alright, it's up to you. What do you need?"

I thought of rehab, and then Ms. Smith, Georgina. And her kind eyes and clam voice.

"The class is not a 'class' it's like therapy, it's a session. It would be open to all people under eighteen, but most of them would be around Matt's age. After school, they come to the art room. After each session, I look at their art and ask you about anything I'm not sure of. No judgement."

"Okay. You start tomorrow, tell Matt to talk to his classmates and you can spread the word around the teenagers."

I nodded my approval, and left. _The world is just a huge distraction from death_, I remember my mother saying, with her eyes raw and voice too quiet.

* * *

Matt was told, a few older kids were talked to. The roof was still soft with moss, a carpet inviting me to stay there, to be stable. I ran my fingers through the downy fibers. The sky was a clear, brilliant navy and the black silhouettes of trees made stamps in the view. The air was crisp, biting at my skin and making me shiver. My teeth chattered, but I kept staring at the vast blankness of the sky. I wanted music, something flimsy with gentle guitar and a delicate voice. But I had the night, and the beat of the bird noises and the sound of silence. And then I had a grunt, a curse. A thud, and I pushed myself into the moss, as if I could disappear into it's lush depth, tunnel into it and live there forever. I stood up with shaky movements, watching two hands splay onto the roof and try to push themselves up. I held my breath, balled my hands together until the nails dug into the flesh, spots of pain in my palm surfacing and dying in waves.

Hal was carrying a plastic bag, looped around his belt. I wanted to rush to him, place my body against his, thank him for not being someone else. But I stayed where I was, as I always do.

"I'm sorry." He called out, arms spread wide and smile threatening to show. "I get moody this time of the month." I uncurled my hand, blood set behind my nails and jagged wounds in my palm. I winced and Hal frowned. "What's wrong?"

The air was still too warm, too sickly. I thought of the snow a few days ago, how much it had changed. "Why were you angry?" I murmured.

"What?" I looked over at him, the way his hands gracelessly fell down to his sides. How the twinkling in his eyes turned so quickly to hurt.

"Why were you angry with me?"

And he was walked over, my question still hanging in the air, fumbling with the bag on his belt. "I'm going tomorrow. To a hospital with harnessed kids, pretend to be one of them. To find Ben, take him and the other kids."

The air turned bleak, crisp. Icy. My body tensed, my eyes darting over to him. It was like all my blood clotted at once, my heart moving slowly, my limbs working stiffly. I could hear the plastic bag still being wrestled with, his large fingers fighting a losing battle.

I thought of peaches, of their smell and colour. Their clean, sweet taste and the juice that dribbles down your chin. Sun on my skin, light fingertips tracing my scar. I thought of a boy who hadn't passed my mind in weeks, who I lost. I still kept him with me, folded and tucked in a secret place.

I grabbed Hals arm, gripping tightly and I ran, taking him with me. I all but jumped down the ladder, while Hal stayed at the top, staring down at me blankly. "Come on," I hissed. My blood wasn't clotted anymore, I could see things with perfect, sour clarity. Hal was shaking, his boots reaching for the rungs and hesitantly placing them on the rust. I saw little specks of the red falling down, like snow. Resting on my forehead.

I dragged him through the halls, my hand tight around his wrist. Somewhere along the pastel yellow walls, he released my grip and caught my thumb with two fingers, gave a slight squeeze. _You're okay._

But I wasn't okay, I was crying and searching through my things, the duffel bag I still hadn't unpacked, because I still wasn't _quite _sure. My vision was blurring and my cheeks were getting colder, so cold I could feel the pinpricks of frozen blood underneath my skin. My tears scorched down my face. I did so much crying that day, it made me feel like I was made of salty tears, that they would never stop. I reached for the pouch. It was one of those silk jewelry bags, when you buy expensive accessories at a cheap market, a little _thank you_ for trusting them. I slipped the liquid fabric over my fingertips.

I handed him a scowling boy, who was saying _you better not take that picture_. The sun was sitting on the boy's shoulder, and I thought of Hal climbing to the moon on his rusted ladder. "If you see him, tell him to come home." I said, my eyes not wavering from his. "You tell him to_ come home_."

Hal chuckled a little, out of nervousness, he was uncomfortable. He shook his head, a little sad. "I don't think I'll find him, Ariel." He gave an awkward smile, one that never reached his eyes. "I'm sorry."

I stood up, and Hal followed. "Try." Hal smiled, "Always do."And I laughed, just to break some tension. "Be safe."

"Always am," And he saluted me, so serious it was almost comical.

I watched him crawl into bed, his silhouette, with butterflies beating bruises against my ribs. It was his last night on death row, his time had come. And I didn't know what to say.

_Tell him to come home, Hal._

* * *

**Okay! I am so sorry for the wait, I've just gone back to uni and... Yeah the workload is up to my eyeballs. By Oct 22, it should even out a little, we're giving in major projects, and I will have some semblance of an updating schedule. For now, expect every two weeks. BUT I am sick, which is bad news for me and good news for the next chapter. It's halfway finished, and should be up by Wednesday (fingers crossed).**

**Thanking everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed/read! You have no idea how much it propels me. Also, there probably wouldn't be a chapter here if 'It Belongs in a Museum' hadn't helped/motivated me. She recently finished her story 'The Same Kind of Broken' which is a huge feat. It's well worth the look.**

**And please review! Any feedback is useful.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Don't own Falling Skies, never have and probably never will.**

**Pictures of Ariel are on my profile, check them out if you like. Or look up Fiona Apple in the 90s. **

* * *

Chapter 6

_Fade - to disappear or die gradually. _

* * *

Hal was still sleeping when I woke up, breath slow and face showing no hate. I turned over quietly, saw Matt curled to his side, crying in his dreams. The light was new, blue in the morning and tinting everything cold. I kicked off my blankets slowly, vaguely remembering Tom putting it on me, kissing Matt's forehead.

Walking over to Matt, I shook his shoulder roughly. I had learnt with time that he couldn't be woken up with gentle words and soft prods. Tears had dried into his pillow, making it rough, _I should wash his bed clothes, _I thought. And I felt guilty because I would be washing his brother's bedclothes, while Hal went on a suicide mission. My eyes wandered over to Hal, who was sleeping noiselessly, safe. Matt was groggily coming to the surface, his pupils slowly getting bigger as he took in the room. And he still asked the same question -

"Mom?"

The little boy who had raced me down the hall, his curls streaming behind him, who brought me dinner on the first day I came. _What'cha wanna do on your day off? _I said, and his eyes flicked to mine, holding innocent strength the only way kids can. _Forget_. Sadness lay heavier than I ever thought it could, under my skin and coursing through my blood. _Forget_. He would never 'come of age', never turn eighteen and magically be an adult. He had already seen things that qualified him as a grown up.

I rubbed his shoulder in lazy circles, something deep and motherly in my bones, shocking me. "Ariel," I whispered, and his chest fell. I wanted to gather him in my arms, rock him from side to side. _I'm not your mother, but I can be your sister, _I would whisper into his hair. Be the comforter, for once. Have it together for somebody, not fall apart in front of white coats and pitying eyes.

He sat up, and, as if he could hear my thoughts, he looped his gangly arms around my neck, made me squeak in surprise. "You're still okay, Ariel." His breath warm on my skin and his dried tears peeling off like flakes of snow, falling and entwining with my hair. _You too, Matt. You're still okay too._

It's not a mess, it's abstract. I wound my arms around his skinny frame, and I felt something powerful settle on my skin, in the very marrow of my bones. I cared about him. Loved him, even. In a strictly platonic, sisterly sense. I wanted him to be able wake up in his nightmares, sleep in clean sheets. To be able to forget. So I tucked him into bed, folded the blankets up to his chin, making him giggle with small-boy dimples. The morning brought too much desperation for me to dwell on. He rolled his head to the side, me still sitting on his bed. Light played tricks on his face, and his eyes looked bigger somehow as they stared across at his brother. His hands grasped at mine, and he refocused on me. "Tell me a story," He pleaded, his voice like a child's at bedtime, refusing to go to sleep. He moved over, and I lay down on the bedsheets. My hands were on my head, staring at the ceiling. Like Hal, talking to the heavens.

"Just one," I warned, and he nodded dutifully, eagerly. And he shifted closer, wriggling his warm body closer to my forever frozen one. I gathered my thoughts, and smiled slightly, remembering my mother's extravagant hand gestures and high pitched voices that normally ended with me more hyper than I had been before I went to bed.

"There was this boy, he lived on the moon." I started quietly, watching Matt out of the corner of my eye. "He was surrounded with love and happiness. All the space animals came and greeted him where ever he went." I paused, letting our breaths fill the night for beats of time. "His world was colourful."

"Was there dogs?" His sleepy voice piped in, somewhere near my shoulder. He traced patterns on his arm, looking lost. "There were as many dogs as you can imagine. The boy used them as beds, as footstools. The whole world was full of space animals and dozens and dozens of dogs, any shape and any colour." He let out a satisfied sigh, and settled in again.

"One day, he was walking, when this strange looking animal with wings flew alongside him. The boy stopped and looked into its eyes. 'What are you?' As if he expected it to reply. But the animal's voice was as clear as the air he breathed, and it squawked 'I'm Birdy the bird.' Oh, you could not imagine the boy's surprise! He gasped and sputtered like an idiot, before finally saying 'What are you doing here?' 'Well,' Birdy replied, 'I'm here for you.'

'For _me_? Whatever for?' Birdy smiled at that, imagine, a bird smiling!" I let out a little chuckle, but only finding Matt's heavy breath to reply. He was sleeping, making small sighs in his dreams, and it felt like I was an interloper, intruding on something so intimate.

Hal cleared his throat, loud and exaggerated, and I jumped clean out of my skin, making me lose balance with trying to not wake Matt, ending with me falling out of bed. Matt turned over, his eyes still closed.

"What's with you perving on me?" I scowled, and Hal let out a low chuckle, hands still on his head, just like mine had been. "It's not perving, I just don't tell you I'm there." He said, too loud for the night. I whispered to make a point, "Always have an excuse, don't you?"

Silence claimed us, accusing in its quiet.

"Tell me the rest of your bedtime story." He said, and I raised my eyebrows at him, as if saying to him _Really?_

"I'll tell you on the roof." And Hal sighed, "Wish I never told you about that goddamned roof. It's like every second of your day is spent there."

I was waiting for him at the doorway, leaning my shoulder against it and cocking my head to the side. "I like it up there. It's quiet."

Hal threw his arm over his eyes, let out a noiseless groan. "But my bed is so _warm_." He complained, drawing out his words with whines. "Why don't you tell me a bed time story like you told Matt?"

I frowned. "Are you asking me to share a cot with you?" In the dawn light his cheeks blushed, and he blinked a few times. "No-o." He said, sounding hesitant and careful. "Just the easiest way for me to hear this thriller without waking anyone, and without having to get out of this _extremely _comfortable bed." He shrugged, confidence back, "Common sense."

My eyes were starting to droop, so I climbed in to my bed, curled to my side while he did the same. And I raised my eyebrows at him, while smirk was starting to form on his face. "What did you hear?"

"Everything," And he laughed a little, except it died in his throat. _You're still okay, Ariel_, did he hear that? And Matt's hug, did he see that? It seemed too personal to share with him. I thought of the crumpled picture, tear stains splattered because everything was perfect, the boy with the peaches. The most sacred secret I have, and I trusted him with Hal. I tried not to read too much into that.

"So, the bird flies up to him, right?" Hal says, and I nod. "And he says I'm here for you?"

"Do you want to tell the story?" I said, smiling into the night, the dawn. _Fuck you, universe!, _he shouted one day, his eyes too free. And Hal turned around, chuckling like a giddy girl on her first sleepover. "I want to know your story." He murmurs, his voice so warm that I wanted to fall into it.

I was sitting up before I could think, dragging my bed sheets with me, bringing them up to my chest. Shielding myself. Hal was sitting up, mouth open, and I hear Matt talking gibberish, Tom sighing again. "Just sleep, Hal." I whispered, too tired to form a sentence. He nodded, mouth still open. He turned his back to me, and the dawn ate me alive.

* * *

Tom keeps talking. _ 'Be careful' _He says over breakfast, rubbing at his beard with dirty fingernails. _'Tell me the plan again.'_

_'No! You take the second right. _Damn_ it, Hal. You need to know this.'_

I get up and leave, fear gnawing at my stomach. Fluorescent lights can be beautiful, looking like stars up-close, blinding you. I left the cafeteria behind, landed in front of the missing. I looked at the girl and the boy, with the pink floppy hats and enduring hugs. I reached out, placed my fingertips on the girls face as I had done days before. _Take me to this moment_. The girl stayed smiling, and I stared into her eyes. When did they go missing? Has she ever cried herself to sleep? I took the pins out, freed them. Turned it over in my hands, _Florida '09_. A tiny smiley face, a heart were drawn in sharpie on the corner. What did she want to be when she grew up?

"Are you going to keep it?"

I spin around, and Lourdes is beside me. Too near. She stands perfectly still, and I want Hal's nervous energy and his _rat-tat-tat _machine gun. Her wooden cross still sits easily on her chest, like it belonged there. Jealousy passed through me in a wave, envying her faith that something would save us in the end, someone who had a plan, _don't worry, trust me_. A savior.

"No." I say, putting it back. Pushing the pins in with finality. "I was just looking,"

She nods, "Are you excited for your class today? Anne told me about it," And she falters, I decided to ignore it. Everyone has their own demons.

"Session." I corrected, thinking of Ms. Smith and her tight smile, "Yeah, actually. I am." I touched the girls face again. _Take me to this moment_.

"Great," She beams at me, and I have to step away from the happiness. She takes a breath, and comes closer again, "Hey, you know the pregnant girl, Sarah?" I nodded, I had seen her around. Wondered about her story. "Well, we're having a baby shower for her. I'm sure she'd like it if you came." The words rang slightly false, but I agreed anyway, because I'm good at agreeing. Nod and they smile, act like you understand and they feel satisfied. _Yes, of course I'm going to clean up. _"Great!" She grinned at me, her eyes warm. "Come by later, after your class, yeah?"

"See you later, Ariel."

"See you," I said, but she's already gone, because they're always gone.

* * *

I was still in front of the missing, imprinting faces into my mind, when I felt Hal's eyes skim by me, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. A prickling sensation gathered on the back of my neck, raising hairs and feeling his gaze stare into me.

"What?" I snapped, turning around. His _rat-tat-tat _started up again, and I felt regret drape itself over my tongue, my throat. Made me want to grab his hand, to feel his warmth, have it fill me up. "I'm sorry," I said, and his face softened, as if he understood it wasn't just about snapping at him.

"Don't worry about it."

He walked up to the board, stood near me, but he wasn't too close somehow. I thought of his heated body the night before, his giddy laugh. _I want to know your story_.

"Harris died. Yesterday."

I felt my chest close up, like an elevator door shutting. _You have reached the ground floor. _I put my hand to my forehead, feeling the icy skin give me brain freeze. I thought of his hands, how we depended on them. _The miracle surgeon_.

"Will they still be able to do the surgery?" _Are you still going_?

"Dr. Glass is going to try and do it." And everything was perfectly frozen for a while, for one second or thirty. Something desperate was climbing up my throat, and worked it's way out.

"What are you doing today?" I ask, my hand still attached to my forehead.

"Mission prep, we're leaving at four, staking it out."

"You got any free time?"

He smirks over at me, the _rat-tat-tat _slowing for a while. "I guess I could pencil something in."

"Come help me with my mission," I said, and he looks confused, a little line forming between his eyebrows. I thought of sitting behind a dumpster, a lighter in my hand. _You gonna hurt yourself with that thing_, he said, wiping the peach juice from his chin. _Oh, yeah? _I challenged, drawing my hand closer to the flame, _Well, what's worth living for, anyway? _He took my wrist away from the heat, enclosed my waist, dragged me through the empty streets. He tucked the hair out of my face with small-boy sweetness, and he kissed me in the dusk. Rested his forehead against mine.

I had too much hope to survive in this world.

"What mission?" Hal said, and he took a step closer, shouting with his eyes. _You better not have done anything stupid, Ariel_. And the machine gun is shooting full speed, as if he's got something to protect.

"I got half a dozen ten year olds coming into a confined space, I need some prepping." I said, and he let out this breath, one that was long and slow, as if he was releasing something deadly. He laughed, and I joined in, just to get rid of the feeling that I was being mocked. He stops, looks over at me, "Come on, then."

I walk with him to the art room, our steps in unison.

He laid paper out, while I washed paintbrushes with a tissue. He reached for the top shelves, I got the palates. I found a box underneath the sink with pencils, I gave one to every sheet of paper. He was squirting paint, almost reverently, swirling it around like he was making an ice-cream, with a grin on his face. And the silence was tinged with goodbyes and easy friendship. I sat on the table, put my feet on the window ledge. The light shone rainbows on my skin, and I thought of how some things never change, even though the currents are pulling at it, like a stream around a rock.

"I want you to teach me to fight," I said into the room, the words filling the walls strangely, unnaturally. He laughed a little, bruising me with his reaction. "You're not a fighter, Ariel." I looked at the plants moving in the wind, the trees swaying from side to side like slow dancers. "I want you to teach me to fight," My voice repeated, and this time he didn't laugh. Hal climbed onto the art table, but instead of looking out the window, he lay back. And there was silence everywhere -in my head, in the room. "Why?" He said, and I looked over at him, wondered how he could be so stupid. I turned my head back to the patterns of sun on my legs. "Because I'm leaving." I said, simple and factual. And he just nodded, the small noises at the back of his throat more familiar than his voice. And the machine-gun was shooting so fast, it melded into a background beat, stayed in strict _four four _time. He kept nodding, and I never felt closer to someone, because he stayed quiet when I did. And he just knew, what I can't explain. He just knew.

* * *

Hal was standing like a soldier, chin up. And Tom was talking him through the mission again, trying not to show his hope. Matt stood silently at my side, a few meters away from them. He reached for my hand, his little-boy hands so small and face trembling. I grabbed his hand, rubbed comforting circles with my thumb. Then I let him go and say goodbye to his brother.

I watched them for a while. The way Hal's fingers gripped so tightly to Matt's jacket, Tom's eyes flicking between the two. The ground was soft, as if I wanted to fall into it, so I slipped away quietly, giving Hal a small salute.

_Be safe._

And I had no doubt, that is all I remember. I had faith.

* * *

The kids ran out of the room, some hollering, laughing. Other's still hadn't forgotten, still traced the contours of their hollow cheeks and protruding bones. I pulled my hair back, twisted it into a bun. And I looked at the art work, rubbed at the paper between my fingers.

_Tell me what you're afraid of, _he said, my hair blowing wisps across my face, his eyes looking like the centre of a hurricane. I was wrapped up in everything he was, his scent, his beauty. And his stories, I fell in love with his stories. He made me forget everything. I slept in a dream world, and I never woke up. Because it all felt so perfect. Too perfect.

"I want you to draw something that scares you," I said to the room of children, smiling a little. "It can be anything. Spiders, the dark. Heights."

Everyone drew skitters except for Matt. He drew clocks.

* * *

Dr. Glass was talking in murmurs, harsh whispers cutting across the room. Lourdes' head was bowed down to hears, nodding with her eyes shinning, glassy marbles in the sun. My salute to Hal still hung on my skin, so I knocked with my left hand. They both jumped, and Lourdes gasped in oxygen as if it was going to be her last breath. Dr. Glass and I caught eyes again, just like the day before. Lies and secrets lay in heavy in the space between.

"Hi?" My voice bubbled in my throat, strained and uncertain. Anne let go of Lourdes' arm, composing herself. "Ariel." She said, her smile not reaching her cheeks, just stayed plastic fake. I stared at both of them, and Lourdes shook herself, turned around.

"I was wondering if Dr. Glass could take a look at this?" I said, holding out the picture. My hand shook violently, sending the waxy drawing into blurs of navy and cream. Dr. Glass flicked her hair over her shoulder, Lourdes started organising the medical implements, her hands shaking worse than mine. "Sure." She said, and smiled at me, as if everything was normal.

"I told them to draw something everyday, something from before the invasion." I said, and my voice still warbled. She nodded, like this was the smartest idea she had heard of. "And this girl, around nine, she has blond hair? She drew this." I shoved it into her hands. A rough white circle was drawn, with haphazard blue lines strewn across the face, a dark background. The moon breaking.

Dr. Glass nodded again, "I'll talk to her."

"Thanks." I looked into her eyes, saw the secrets there, hiding beneath the night-black colour. The pause grew awkward. "Is anything wrong?" The words had worked their way out of my mouth, springing free into the silence.

Lourdes moaned beginnings of a sob, anguish caught in her throat. And Dr. Glass led me gently out of the room, her hand gripping my shoulder. She smiled her plastic smile, and I saw regret in her eyes. "You won't be able to help, Ariel."

I hated the feeling of being left behind. _Why did you have to leave me?_

The thing that scared me the most was not knowing who I was thinking about.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know if anyone even reads these things, but a big, huge THANK YOU to everyone who favourited/followed/read. If you could review that would be amazing!**

**Gigantic thank you to 'It Belongs in a Museum' for giving me pep-talks and being a fantastic beta. You're the best, seriously.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I am so sorry for abandoning my little fic! Unfortunately, there were some family health issues but now everything is all cleared up and happy again. But big, huge thanks to It Belongs In A Museum for being a lovely, understanding person throughout the whole thing. And for beta-ing!**

**Hopefully, I will have a regular updating schedule from now on. Once every two weeks.**

**And please leave me your thoughts the chapter, it really motivates me and propels me. **

* * *

Chapter 7

_Ghost - A mere shadow or semblance; a trace._

* * *

My mother was crying. Her face collapsing and tears tracing her cheeks with (leaving) salty tracks. She was grabbing at me, her hands desperate and insistent. _Help me_... _Help, _she repeated, her eyes gazing into mine with certainty. She had no make-up on, no extravagant eyeliner, no foundation or perfect hair. Her lips were still blood-red. _Help_. The boy with the peaches stabbed her, his knife coming back clean, as if she had never been there in the first place. He smiled. _Tell me what you're afraid of, _he said, his blade making unseen patterns on my neck.

"Ariel!"

This time it was Matt waking me from my nightmares, his palm hovering above my shoulder. I let my tears drop from my cheek to the bed, watching the ceiling. "Are you okay?" His voice was small, and I felt disorientated, as if he really wasn't there, as if the silence was all I knew. I nodded, and I think of a beige room, with fake plants and no windows, where I agreed to whatever she asked. _Yes, of course I'm going to stay away from him_, I had once said, the space around me too small and the person too knowing. _I know he's dangerous._ _I would never risk everything. Especially after, _I paused, looked into her eyes, which were fake and grey, _what happened. _He was deadly, you see. And I was on a suicide mission.

Matt was shaking me, his forehead dimpling with worry. "Ariel," He repeated, bringing me back. I sat up, rested my elbows on my knees and walked my hands to my heels. "You want to go on a picnic?" I said, looking at my feet, how odd it was that they were accepted as normal. "It's four AM." He said, as if this explained everything. I smiled, looked at his face, how rubbery it seemed. "You want to go on a picnic?" And he laughed, his head falling to look over at the empty beds beside us. "Sure." He said, and bared his teeth, shining in the pink-hued morning.

The halls are silent as we slip through them, blue tinged shadows and burnt out candles guiding us through the yellow walls. And Matt stops at the cafeteria door, gazing up at it. He places his fingertips on it, with the wonder of the naive. "We can't steal food," He said, his eyes still on the metal. _We have to steal, Ariel. It's how we survive. _I remember refusing, shouting at him, my eyes flashing rage. I placed my hand on the door, shot out the anger I felt then.

So I was leading him to the roof, and watching him climb up the ladder. "Why does the sky go those colours?" he asked, and everything was new and brilliant, because Hal was coming back today. I willed myself to feel that certainty, that faith I had when he left. And then, staring into the sun, I felt hollow, like there was skin and then -nothing. _I should have said goodbye_.

"I don't know." I murmured, my eyes still on the sunrise. "We should ask your dad."

And he nods, and I wished for the time when I believed my parents knew everything. "But it's pretty, isn't it?" I said, my toes wriggling back at me.

He smiled, and his dimples had blue black light grasping at them, little pockets of the night still hidden. "It would be a nice picture." His small-boy voice told me. And I agreed.

I swallowed, thinking of my mother and her obsessive picture taking, how she would stay up all night, sipping wine and playing Italian opera. Waiting. She wanted a picture of that in-between time, before night leaves and day comes, that peculiar shade of white that promises too much. She would listen to Pavarotti and sing along, wear a bathrobe, because she had no one to please. And she used to wipe off her make-up, stare into the mirror with longing. I used to stand beside her, watch my face with the seriousness she exhibited. I never found what she was searching for. In those nights, she used to put her hands on my face, warming me, kiss my forehead, my lips, my hair. _You are so beautiful, my mermaid. Hm? Inside and out. You are so beautiful._

Some nights she just drank.

"My mom used to do that." I was talking into the dawn, loud. Defiant. _I can speak about you, see mother? _Matt drew patterns on his arm, flicked his eyes to me. "Do what?" He said, pausing in his patterns.

"Take pictures of the sunrise."

He smirks, and thoughts of Hal come so violently I have to close my eyes, the orange light muddled and confusing beneath my eyelids. _Always am, _he said, his bag slung carelessly on his shoulder, my paintings strewn across my bed.

_I want to know your story._

The morning grows warm, so Matt falls asleep in the newborn light, his arm draped across my lap. Hal never fully leaves my thoughts, and the dawn never fully turns into day. I see it on my skin, in Matt's face. It leaves its mark of faith, and the day passes with the steady beat of clocks, never once stopping. I refused for it to stop, I willed it to continue on its track, to bring me back what was promised.

_Be safe._

_Always am._

* * *

The first person I see is Maggie, her smug smile, and Hal, who only has eyes for the boy in Tom's arms. There were harnessed children everywhere, looking like corpses. Tom was talking to Dr. Glass, face pinched, his fingers rubbing at his beard. Hal doesn't look away from the boy. I laid a girl on her front, her harness attached to her spine, feeding on her. Everything was blurred, too many people moving, and I was pushed into the halls with Matt, him gripping at my shirt. I thought of laughter, peaches, empty streets, and I knelt down, held his jumper. "I'm going back in, okay?"

Matt nods, "I'll come with you." But the thought makes my stomach do strange cartwheels, makes me put my hand in his hair, squeeze tight. "No." I whispered, thinking of the dawn and his childish eyes. He deserves some sort of innocence. "No, you stay here. I'll be out soon."

_I love you_, he said one day, his hand on my stomach and my fingertips traced his eyebrows with fragile movements. The monsters raged on, loud and brash. But I could feel his breath, it made my hair tickle my chest, he blew gooseflesh across my skin, smiling into my collarbone. _You turning soft on me, Davids? _And he kissed up my neck, my jaw, paused at my mouth. _Dream on, DeMuro._

It was like the room was closing in, inch by inch, step by step. I could feel the windows shutting up, the noise blaring into my ear, reverberating and echoing. I thought of my mother _Help, _she said, _help me._ I could feel the thud, the yelp -

"Robbie!" I screamed into the room, running my fingers across the harnesses - "Robbie!" I tried to turn a boy over, to see his face, but hands were at my arms, pulling me back. There was sobs in my mouth, in my stomach, coming from deep inside me, sorrow that had placed itself there long ago. I could feel the heat, and Hal was dragging me out, Maggie staring at me, accusation in her eyes. "He wasn't supposed to leave me, Hal. He promised he'd stay." And his hands are at my wrists, pulling, pushing, trying to make me sane. _You need to stay away from him, Ariel. He's trouble,_ grey eyes told me, warning me. Too knowing. "Robbie," I cried, and Hal was holding me by the shoulders, my neck hanging loose. I grabbed at his neck, cupped it tightly, felt his scars under my palm. "Did you see him?" I stared into his eyes, watched the frightened brown. "Did you get him?" He was still holding my shoulders, tears still on my cheeks.

There is a moment, right before something horrible happens, when you know that it is going to start, that it is going to hurt. You brace yourself, take a breath that fills you up, try and look at colours for the last time, before everything looks washed out. I searched his face, and suddenly I found what my mother was looking for. _Strength_. I drank him in, the creases around his eyes, how they tightened, and his soft wrinkles on his forehead, between his eyebrows, his worries. The way the side of his mouth was perpetually turned up, it made me want to crush me to him, to thank him for being my optimism. Hal shook his head, his eyes apologetic, "I'm sorry, Ariel, I didn't see him." He was still talking when I pushed him away, his eyes still apologising, when I ran down the halls. I could hear him calling after me - "Where are you going? You hear me? Where are you running to?"

_Where are you running to?_

* * *

_The Mason family is complete, _I thought, hatred dripping through my brain, _no reason to room with them anymore. _I saw the duffel bag -unpacked- and lying in the corner. I threw random clothes in there, charity from Dr. Glass, and my jewelry bag. I took out a packet of cigarettes, one that I stole from a newsagents when the monsters invaded. For _special occasions _only. No lighter. I flung them across the room with a shout, the pain in my thumb flaring. _Seven more fucking days._

"You could use the candles," Hal's voice came from the doorway, and I started to cry. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Help_. Like a mewling kitten, tired and hungry. But this hunger was different,

He picked up the pack, and brought back two cigarettes, trailing smoke that curled in the air. I stayed collapsed in front of the half-packed duffel bag. "Here," He said, and I suck in the smoke, concentrate on it. Feel it swirl down into my lungs, comfort me with dark pressure. I let time heal my eyes, but nothing can help the ache in my chest. Hal sputters and coughs at my second-hand fog, and some part of me wants to laugh at him. "Have you ever smoked before?" I ask, letting out my breath. And he smirks over at me, "I played lacrosse. We don't smoke."

That makes me laugh, bitterness seeping through. "Of course you played lacrosse."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He was smirking, still coughing.

"What I _mean_ is that you were probably a stud, popular, and sporty." I say, drawing on the calming smoke. I look at the jewelry bag, how the faux-silk shines under fluorescents. He smiles at me, "Lemme guess, you were one of the pretty arty girls who went to concerts and called them 'gigs'?"

I smiled, deciding to ignore him, "How's your brother?"

Hal's light disappears, and his soft wrinkles become more pronounced, "He's stable." He pauses, smokes some more. "That's all we can ask for, I guess."

I nodded, staring at the ground, feeling nonexistent. "You lose anyone?"

"A boy," He said, dragging on his cigarette. He let the grey mist out slowly, and I blew rings, my head tilted up. "Around Ben's age. I thought it was him for a second. Scared me shitless."

I looked over at him, the long line of smoke escaping his mouth, like an angry dragon. "Why are you stealing my duffel bag, _again_?" He laughed slightly, and I looked at the brown material, full of clothes the second mass had given me. It looked so pathetic I wanted to mock it, to mock me. "I was going to move out." I picked at my nails, feeling the pinpricks of pain.

"You weren't even going to call first?" He clucked his tongue, but his cheeks gave away his smile. "I was actually planning on a pigeon message." I said, and my cigarette is a stub, glowing embers at the tip.

"You should stay here." Hal caught his eyes with mine, and cracked a grin. "Matt likes you."

The smoke was spinning silk inside me, woody and soft. So I stayed, the duffel bag was retrieved to it's rightful place, and our cigarettes were put out, my tears dried and Hal made babbling conversation, flowing like a stream - _Ben, the mission, food, Ben_.

Like it should be.

* * *

"Again," he said, and I let my breath out in an angry rush, hollow rage building inside me. "I'll never get it," I said, throwing the gun onto the ground, wanting to hear the satisfying thud of the heavy metal on pine needles, away from my shaking hand and unsteady aim. Hal scrambled for it, looked at me and banged his hand against my head. _Are you stupid or something? _He just cocked it, told me to pull the trigger at the tree. It was a clear miss, and fear lodged itself in my chest. _I won't survive two days._ Hal put his hand on my shoulder, to stop me from vibrating with the cold. And he left it there as he told me to aim it again, his voice guiding me through, as steady as his machine gun rattle. "You'll be fine," He said, his hand was moving in circles.

Something had happened in those past few days. Hal would pass me, and I felt unsettlement in the air, somehow resentful and hesitant at the same time. And he spoke to me late at night, his breath warm and voice low. And his hand was rubbing circles, trying to get me to calm down. I looked at the tree, its bark entwining and skin rough, with angry and shallow bullet holes on its face. And I felt remorse for things I would never have, for what that tree had seen, and shooting at the only constant in this world unknown. The gun in my hand was shiny and new, dangerous and heavy. The air around me was full of beginnings, and I wanted normal.

"You see that knot, right there?" He said,the words were hot on my ears, his mouth too close. "Aim for that."

Clear miss, again. But Hal's hand stayed on my back, and his mouth stayed too close, his breath stayed too warm on my ear. So I was still, and he was still, and nothing was going to move again.

* * *

Dinner consisted of my eyes never leaving Hal. Ben woke up. Ben was better. Everything was right again and the world kept spinning on mercilessly. Hal seemed empty. But that was nothing new. Every once in a while he would smile at me, that same smile he had worn ever since Dr. Glass had told him Ben was alright, Ben would get better. His feet were bumping off mine, rhythmically. And then he was gone, with nothing but a wink.

_We've got to move, _he had said, the minute the ships came. _I've seen it, man. They're gonna kill us all, like in those movies. _He was standing a room away from me, stealing clothes from our friends, breathing heavy. He kept repeating, _I've seen it, I've seen it._ His eyes were shouting, and it was all so wrong. So wrong. It resonated everywhere, and I remember falling against the wall, useless.

_What about my mom? _I said, and he sighed, like I was bringing it up for the millionth time. I probably was. He crossed the room, his footsteps slow and breath too quiet now, too much space for thoughts. He kissed me, like it was a promise. _You gotta forget about her. _And he said it, so loud, so determined. Such conviction. _She's gone. _

_She's gone. _I remembered thinking, one foggy morning, too many dead eyes and limp hands. _And now you are too._

Ben was bouncing a basketball against the window, harder each time. His face was set, mouth grim and eyes hard. He flicked his wrist, a grunt escaping the statue, and it resonated off the window, walloped back to him. Whoosh, thud, whoosh.

"You're gonna break it," I said, and he didn't even move, _whoosh, thud, whoosh_.

"It's already broken." So I sat beside him, because he seemed to need someone there. And he grunted harder with each throw, until the shattering of glass woke him up. He stayed still to the sound of falling apart.

There are some moments in life that you remember with perfect clarity, perfect memory. Like shouting into the sunrise, or watching your mother's face, pale and motionless, with her perfect make-up and lies smeared across her face. And knowing that nothing will be the same again. I can't explain why it meant so much to me, why a breaking window could affect me in that way, but watching the window shatter and glint, shimmer through the weak sun and settle on the ground. But it was like it had both freed me and destroyed me. And it was never the same, I want you to understand that. It was never the same again.

* * *

People were panicking, whispers loud and eyes wide. Rumors were spreading like wildfire, devouring the school and crackling with fear.

_They're taking our children_.

_I'm gonna die._

_We gotta get away from this place._

A man had arrived this morning, saving out last medicine. He was tall and grim, his stature skinny and proud. His name was Clayton, he jaw jutted a little too much and his eyes were a little too hard. But he warned us, and he was going to save us. The thing about thoughts was that they confused too much, said too little. Maggie prickled beside me, and I thought of her storms, her eyes. Holding my hand and crying down the phone. Carrying me home, slapping my face with rough movement, _wake up, you need to wake up_, she said softly, as if it was a prayer.

Her fist in my gut, _you fucked up junkie. _

But she stayed. She stayed next to me as Clayton explained his stupid plan, and while Tom backed him up, and while the growing sense of betrayal settled in my spine. Somehow, she was still standing inches away from me as I was told to go with the children.

And sometimes, that was enough.


End file.
